


until you grow cold

by indiavolojones



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:02:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23750509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indiavolojones/pseuds/indiavolojones
Summary: “Very well. I swear myself to you, Asmodeus.”Solomon brings Asmodeus’ hand to his face, presses the bleeding, open palm to his cheek. His lips part, tongue flicking out to lap at the wound. Solomon allows the shiver to run through his body at Asmodeus’ powerful blood, lashes fluttering at the sensation.“Your soul for my oath, until death takes you.”(a human!asmodeus/demon!solomon au.)
Relationships: Asmodeus/Solomon (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 99





	until you grow cold

**Author's Note:**

> #lil bit of gore, lilith dies here too. 
> 
> the main difference in this AU is that Solomon (and MC, but they don’t appear here) are demons, and the seven brothers are powerful human sorcerers. this is a wildly indulgent AU with a ridiculous amount of unnecessary lore already existing in my brain lmfao.
> 
> this is also… mostly just snapshots of a relationship. hopefully it’s not so jumpy than it doesn’t make sense!! but if anyone cares, lmk and I’ll clarify anything! written for a request on tumblr.

The first time Asmodeus asks Solomon to make a pact with him, he tells Asmodeus that he’d rather pick his teeth with Asmodeus’ bones. The second time, Solomon chokes Asmodeus until the other nearly passes out, only letting go when Diavolo’s disapproving frown appears in his mind like an unfortunate conscience.

The third time, a tipsy, bold Asmodeus dares to take the empty seat beside Solomon at the party, and Solomon is ready to snap. 

“Would you make a pact with me, Solomon?” Asmodeus asks, as if that is their _hello_. 

_I should kill you for speaking to me_ , Solomon nearly says, but manages to bite it down.

At Solomon’s silence, Asmodeus reaches a wavering hand out towards Solomon, expertly painted nails catching the light. Solomon does not flinch back, too proud of his status to move–Asmodeus stops inches from his chest, before he clenches his hand into a fist and pulls his arm back. 

Solomon cannot promise he wouldn’t have ripped Asmodeus’ nails from their beds should the other have touched him. 

“Is this part of your attempt to work your way up through the ranks of Hell?” Solomon asks, exasperated–it would be foolish of him to not know of _Asmodeus_ , the insouciant, flirtatious sorcerer who has charmed his way through much of the Devildom’s upper echelon. Asmodeus blinks at him, before he laughs. 

(Asmodeus has a laugh like tinkling bells, and Solomon refuses to acknowledge the sound isn’t wholly unpleasant.)

“There are much easier ways to _work my way up_ than by seeking a pact,” Asmodeus says, filled with innuendo, and Solomon tilts his head to the side, wondering how mad Diavolo would be if he just killed a human out of sheer annoyance. 

“Your Prince of Hell,” Asmodeus begins, and Solomon’s eyes glint dangerously in warning, as if daring Asmodeus to speak ill of Diavolo, “He’s trying to bring peace to the three Realms, isn’t he?” Solomon blinks, before nodding stiffly, interest piqued. 

“My brothers and I are some of the strongest sorcerers in the world right now. My oldest brother, Lucifer, could find a way to charm the King of the Devildom himself should he put his mind to it.” Asmodeus is drunkenly praising his brother, Solomon wants to roll his eyes.

“Then perhaps I should go make a pact with _Lucifer_ ,” Solomon says loftily. Asmodeus merely grins back, and waggles a finger with his other hand on his hip. 

“Lucifer would never make a pact with a demon. He’s too proud to give anything up in return.” 

“And you aren’t?” Solomon can’t help the soft snort. 

“I’m not so proud that I’ll turn away the kind of power you offer for something as pointless as my soul,” Asmodeus shrugs. Solomon stills, the offer _mildly_ exciting. 

“It is a bold act to readily offer up one’s soul as payment,” Solomon begins, wondering if he should add ‘ _suicidal_ ’ to the ‘ _idiot flirt_ ’ to his mind’s profile of Asmodeus. Asmodeus tilts his head to give Solomon another smile, dripping with all the charm of his previous ones, but there’s something more there. A fervor that Solomon might have missed amidst Asmodeus’ flirtation, but unavoidable now that the other is loosened by drink. 

“We’ll see. But in the meantime, with however much time you higher powers grant me,“ Solomon might have laughed at Asmodeus’ _higher power_ jibe, were it not for his interest being held by the ambitious glint in Asmodeus’ eyes, “…there’s some hell I’d like to raise.” 

How _curious_. 

Obviously, he says no. 

Asmodeus calls for him many, many times. As they do not have a pact, Solomon isn’t required to answer, and he takes malicious delight in turning them down. Unfortunately, as a Lord of Hell, Solomon doesn’t get to completely avoid the other’s presence. More often than not, Asmodeus has _somehow_ sweet talked his way into all of their important events in the Human Realm. 

Solomon is revolted to find that some people find him… _charming_. 

However, when Solomon feels the curl of someone’s magic around his wrist, he hesitates before banishing the tendril. Instead, he lets the tendril swirl in his palm, brings his nose down to sniff at the magic. 

Usually, Asmodeus’ summons feel like a song; haunting and sickly sweet. Tonight, it sounds like a _whimper_ , and Solomon’s inherently wicked nature stirs in interest. Iron, salt, the stench of death, of suffering that sings to Solomon. He allows the magic to take his hand, and it carries him through the realms.

Asmo casts a slim, striking figure in the center of the dark room in his fitted black suit. The glass bottle of human liquor has fallen to the side, dark liquid spilling onto Asmodeus’ carpet. Asmodeus does not look like he cares, does not look anything like the provocative, teasing sorcerer he occasionally crosses paths with.

Ah. So it finally happened.

Asmodeus’ arm stretches out between them, blood dripping from his clenched fist over Solomon’s seal burned into the floor. Solomon’s breath catches at the beauty of it in the flickering candlelight, all of his senses sizzling at the barely contained wildness of Asmodeus’ magic. Asmodeus, with his red rimmed eyes, the smears of eyeliner and mascara dirtying his face–he can _taste_ Asmodeus’ pain just by parting his lips to the air. 

It _calls_ to him. 

For the first time, Solomon touches Asmodeus; delicate, clawed fingers curl around Asmodeus’ bloody hand. Solomon wants to pry open Asmodeus’ hand, lavish his tongue to the wound he’d find in the other’s palm; he settles for pushing his thumb on Asmodeus’ wrist, feeling his quickened pace. 

“What are you looking for, Asmodeus?” Solomon asks, quiet, as Asmodeus’ blood drips onto his own hand.

“Immortality,” Asmodeus says, and Solomon can’t help the incredulity in his voice.

“Really?” 

“No, but it will have to do,” Asmodeus sniffs, full of young, brazen gusto–but Solomon is old, and knows that willpower will only get Asmodeus so far. Solomon cannot help but think of Asmodeus’ younger sister, still warm in her grave. 

At once, the confirmation settles in his head; _Asmodeus is a fool_. The words do not leave his lips. Instead, he steps closer. Asmodeus watches him with stunned wonder, obediently letting Solomon open his fist. 

“Very well. I swear myself to you, Asmodeus.” 

Solomon brings Asmodeus’ hand to his face, presses the bleeding, open palm to his cheek. His lips part, tongue flicking out to lap at the wound. Solomon allows the shiver to run through his body at Asmodeus’ powerful blood, lashes fluttering at the sensation. 

“Your soul for my oath, until death takes you.”

Asmodeus’ eyes do not leave Solomon’s, even as he nods. 

“ _If_ death takes me,” Asmodeus says, his fingertips skimming across the heights of Solomon’s cheekbones. 

It is almost too easy. 

Asmo’s perfect skin will break under his teeth, Solomon will suck the marrow from his bones, and his soul is an assured delicacy. No matter how far Asmodeus reaches for his goal, there is no way he will be able to achieve what no other human has before. 

But… Solomon thinks, a wicked, undeniable pleasure curling low in his chest… What if he does? Asmodeus, with his bright eyes and soft, loose curls–could he achieve the impossible? 

Solomon realizes that he would love to see Asmodeus try. 

How _curious_. 

“I expect great things from you, Asmodeus.” 

“Likewise, Lord Solomon.” 

Solomon should have prepared himself for this, but honestly, how the hell does one prepare for someone like Asmo? From the beginning, he should have never expected someone like Asmodeus to act as predicted. Solomon should have just _never made the fucking pact in the first place_.

Mere moments earlier, Solomon had been overseeing the renovations for the grand ballroom in Diavolo’s palace–and now, he squints up at the ghastly human sun. 

“ _Solomon_ ~,” Asmo croons, and Solomon–with all the patience he can muster to not immediately assume his demon form and _tear apart this entire godforsaken beach_ –looks down at him. Asmo flutters his eyelashes at him from over the rim of his sunglasses. 

“You _cannot_ keep doing this, Asmodeus,” Solomon stares down at the bottle in his hands, absolutely _furious_ –but Asmodeus tosses an amused glance over his shoulder at the other. 

“Solomon, please, call me Asmo,” he purrs, and Solomon’s response is immediate.

“ _No_.”

“I’ll stop calling you for things like this if you call me Asmo?” Asmo grins. Solomon gives him a glare that says he clearly does not believe him, and Asmo pouts. 

He touches his forehead, the center of his chest, his left, then right shoulder, kisses his index finger, and points upward, “ _Promise_!” He winks. Solomon’s jaw nearly drops at his audacity. 

“Now come on,” he says, pushing his glasses up to obscure his face and presenting Solomon with his pale, bare back, and whines, “I’m going to get sunburned, Solomon,” Solomon looks back down at the sunscreen in his hand. 

Damn the pact, Solomon is going to _kill him._

“ _I summon you, Solomon–_ ” Asmo’s voice is a whirlwind in his ears, as it drags him through the world.

“What _now_ , Asmo, I’m bus–” The sharp retort dies on his lips the second Solomon answers the summons, hit with the sudden, unmistakable stench of burning flesh. 

“Lend me your power, Solomon,” Asmo begs, desperate, and Solomon’s eyes widen at the tears in his eyes, the blood dripping from his split lip. Curled up on the floor, his older brother Lucifer is staring at Solomon with sheer _hatred_ in his eyes. 

“What are you _doing_ , Asmo,” Lucifer snarls, but it’s not as intimidating as it could be when Lucifer starts to choke up blood. Asmo scrambles over, leaving his own streaks of blood on the floor after him. He holds his older brother close, hands pressing against a growing dark stain on the other’s midsection.

“Shut up, Lucifer, just _shut up,_ ” Asmo laughs, hysterical, “You can lecture me later.” 

Solomon breaks his gaze away from the two brothers, turning to face the center of the room. A blond man stands in front of a terrifying monster of a devil, hands dripping with his angry magic as he tries to stop the devil’s approach. _Repulsive_ , Solomon thinks, the acidic scent of the human’s magic sickening him more than any amount of human gore could. 

“What are you doing here?” Solomon asks the demon, and the blond man swirls around to face him.

“Who–” The blond says, but Solomon does not give him a second glance, stepping forward to stare down the beast, seemingly frozen in place with a strange purple glow around it. It snarls mindlessly, lost to its base desires, struggling angrily against the invisible restraints. 

“Did someone summon you?” Solomon asks, hand running up the ugly, marred scales across the front of its draconic features. 

“ _We_ didn’t. They did.” The blond man spits, and Solomon sees the barely distinguishable form of bones and viscera in a pile nearby. He sighs; typical humans. 

“Die with the damned, then.” Solomon says.

The devil screams as it dies, and Solomon feels nothing. 

“This… this is not the way it should be,” Asmo stares down at the carnage in front of him, eyes obscured by his long curls. Satan has long taken Lucifer to a healer, and now it is the two of them amidst the smoldering room.

“And how should the world be, young Asmodeus?” Asmo flinches at the words, frowning at Solomon. 

Another moment passes. 

“Different. Not this.” Asmo sighs, gestures at the blood. Solomon is surprised to see a hint of Diavolo in Asmo’s expression. Briefly, Solomon wonders if there are any of their other personal quirks that would mesh. He quickly shuts that down, lest some bastard higher power be listening. It would be his own personal hell should the two ever become acquainted. 

“I see your eldest brother is not happy about our pact.” Solomon muses, boot kicking idly at a charred piece of rubble. 

“Probably just upset I got to do it first,” Asmo laughs, but Solomon is not so sure. There’s still a tremor to Asmo’s movements, a distrust in his eyes at every dark corner. Silence lingers between them, now that Asmo is not speaking to fill the space. 

Asmo’s search has seemed to bring nothing but misfortune, a friend would be concerned; Solomon is… _not that_ … but… 

“Perhaps you should give up on your quest, Asmo,” Solomon does not quite know why he says it, but it comes out regardless. 

“I bet you’d _love_ that. How boring would that be?” Asmo sniffs haughtily, one hand combing through his dirty curls, “I’m not getting any younger, now am I!” 

An unknown emotion paces in Solomon’s lungs–his hand presses on his chest, startled by the unfamiliar tightness. Asmo blinks, and looks at him, expressive eyes big with something that resembles _concern_. The very thought is laughable to Solomon, but Asmo leans over to nudge him with his shoulder before he thinks about it any longer.

“Come on, help me burn the rest of this place to the ground.” 

“My lord,” Solomon says, trying to mask the dawning horror from his expression, “ _Surely_ , you aren’t thinking of–”

“Seven of the most powerful sorcerers this century, all of whom are highly regarded in both human and Devildom hierarchies for my exchange program? Why wouldn’t I?” Diavolo grins, fist pressing against his cheek as he props up his head. The profiles for each of the seven lay splayed out in front of Diavolo, and Solomon’s dread grows at the familiar wavy curl on one of the photos. 

“Are you not excited to see Asmodeus again?” Diavolo drags out Asmo’s page from the pile, and pushes it towards him. Solomon bites his cheek to stifle the grimace, opting for a neutral, hopefully believable smile. Asmo’s cheerful face grins up at him, as well as a long list of the other’s accomplishments; the list is sizable, and if Solomon weren’t so damn horrified, then perhaps he would have _maybe_ felt a spark of pride. 

“You could say that,” Solomon grits out, but Diavolo is already rattling off another round of orders for Barbatos. 

“Asmo, it wouldn’t do for you to get eaten on your first day,” Solomon laughs, but there’s an annoyed twitch to his eyes. Asmo reaches out to tug Solomon’s tie from the jacket, and steps closer to examine the color. The glance he gives Solomon through his thick lashes as he does so is irritatingly impudent, but it still stirs a wicked heat in his lungs. 

“Isn’t that what _you’re_ for, darling?” Asmo hums, before deftly tucking the tie back into place, and patting him on the chest, “I prefer your turtlenecks.” Asmo sighs, putting his cheek in his hand as he looks over Solomon. One of his brothers calls his name from across the hall, and Asmo’s gaze snaps to them with a wide smile, waving his arm in recognition. 

Asmo turns back to Solomon, reaching a hand out to cup Solomon by the cheek. Solomon does not flinch, has never flinched, but he’s never been _pleased_ by Asmo’s touch. Asmo tilts his head, gives Solomon a coy smile that Solomon _supposes_ others may find attractive. 

“I’ll see you around, Solomon.” Solomon brings his hand up to brush against where the ghost of Asmo’s touch still lingers. 

This… will be a trying year, Solomon sighs.

**Author's Note:**

> indiavolojones on tumblr, come say hi! 
> 
> p.s. i took a good break from delirium and i *am* working on it.. just... slowly... pls forgive meeeeee


End file.
